


There's Just More of You to Love

by theRavensdesk



Series: Cecil and Carlos are Adorable and i suck at titles [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is bad with words, Cecil is shy and self-conscious, M/M, Steve is an Asshole, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:24:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theRavensdesk/pseuds/theRavensdesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos learns that there's more to Cecil than he originally thought. He really doesn't mind; although Steve Carlsberg definitely has a thing or two coming to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carlos Velazquez has never felt like a bigger asshole in his entire life, which really isn’t fair because he hasn’t actually done anything, but the fact remains that he is a huge, unmitigated ass. And he really should be saying something, or doing anything other than staring, but he can’t seem to get past the thought that he is a far bigger jackass than he had thought (and that he should probably invest in a thesaurus at some point). So he just stands there and stares, and Cecil is looking like his whole world is ending, and Carlos really needs to figure out what actually happened to Telly the Barber, because he’s going to fucking kill Steve Carlsburg and that information would be helpful.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Carlos is a scientist, and as such, it is his job to notice patterns. Carlos is also rather hopelessly in love, and as such, he can’t help but notice everything he can about Cecil. When those two things (Cecil and his job) intersect, Carlos tends to panic. And they have definitely started to intersect.

When he and Carlos had started dating, Cecil had started disappearing. He never missed a radio broadcast, but every thirty days or so he would call Carlos and tell him that he was sick, canceling any plans and refusing to let Carlos anywhere near him; three or four days later would be fine again, usually surprising his boyfriend at work. After four months, it was undeniable that there was a definite pattern that didn’t match any illness Carlos knew about. So when Cecil called him right on schedule for the fourth month in a row he put together a bag with all of the equipment he thought he might need and drove over to Cecil’s house.

Cecil lived in an old house on the very edge of town, having moved out of his apartment building after the walls leaked ectoplasm for three weeks straight. He didn't have any neighbors, and even at twelve thirty on a sunny afternoon the place gave off a decidedly deserted, creepy aura. Cecil’s truck was parked out front, though, so Carlos got out of his car and approached the front door, feeling only slightly nervous. The doorbell hadn’t worked since the incident with the demon fog, and so he knocked, hoping that his boyfriend wouldn’t just ignore him. He was relieved when he heard the sound of someone coming to the door.

“Carlos, what are you doing here?” He asked, his voice muffled through the wood. “I told you that I’m sick.”

He nodded, trying to make eye contact through the peep hole and tightening his grip on his bag. “I know you did. But, uh, there’s a pattern, and I wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, sounding a bit strained. “Now will you please leave.”

The scientist’s heart sank, but he cleared his throat and soldiered on. “No, just let me make sure that everything is alright, and then I’ll go.”

“I’m not opening this door,” he said, sounding determined. “So you might as well leave.”

He sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. “I’m not going to just walk away. There’s something going on here, and I just need to know that you’re okay. Thirty seconds is all I’m asking for, just so I know that you’re not going to die from some strange disease or something.” When Cecil didn’t show any sign of answering him he sighed again. “Well I’m just going to wait here then.” After a few more moments of increasingly awkward silence Carlos sat down on the porch, leaning his back against the house.

Thirty minutes into what had apparently turned into a stand off Carlos began to seriously reconsider his life choices. He had come to this tiny desert town because it was scientifically interesting and closer to home than he had been in far too long; now he was camping outside of his boyfriend’s house in a move that was beginning to dangerously resemble stalking. This was probably one of those red flags that was telling him that he’d been in Night Vale for too long and should probably start running in the opposite direction. He was getting ready to do just that when sounds started coming from inside the house behind him again.

“Carlos?” Cecil asked, sounding small in a way that he never did. “Are you still there?”

The scientist scrambled to his feet his heart-rate spiking. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay,” he replied, sounding small and a bit defeated. “I’m going to let you in now.”

“You don’t have to.” Carlos blurted, feeling incredibly guilty. “I mean, uh, I didn’t mean to be so pushy, you know. So I’m just going to leave. Sorry for bothering you.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself to walk away.

There was a thunk that sounded kind of like Cecil knocking his forehead against the door. “No, don’t leave. I’ll let you in; just, hold on a second.”

“Okay, I’m right here,” he agreed, still feeling guilty. “But don’t feel obligated to do something you don’t want to do.”

There was a long pause followed by the distinctive sound of a deadbolt flipping. “No, I want to. Just, promise that you won’t get mad. Please.”

“I won’t get angry,” he promised, licking his lips in anticipation. “All I care about is that you’re okay.” Instead of answering, Cecil opened the door and and stepped back, letting Carlos get a good look at him.

Cecil’s hair was bright green, which was actually fairly common as far as hair color went, and his bangs were long enough to hide his eyes, which wasn’t. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, another abnormality, and Carlos couldn’t tear his eyes away from his friend’s torso. Growing out of his torso were eight tentacles, four on each side. They were long and thick, a deep, dark purple that looked almost black. Carlos couldn’t stop staring — unable to get past the thought that he was a far bigger asshole than he had thought he was. Because Steve Carlsburg had tried to warn him about this very thing, and he had been relieved when he thought the man was lying.

After a few moments Cecil started babbling. “Look, I know that this is a bit much, but it’s only for a few days. You can just pretend that they’re not there the rest of the time. And they’re harmless, I promise: they’re just me. Carlos, please. Please say something. I never know what you’re thinking; I mean you’re so smart, and you’re always thinking sciencey things, and I never know what’s going on until you tell me. So please, tell me what’s going on. You promised you wouldn’t get mad.” He trailed off, ringing his hands as his tentacles curled in on themselves, writhing against themselves. He sounded almost like he was about to start crying and that was what finally snapped Carlos out of his current cycle of self-flagellation.

“I’m not angry with you,” he said, still sounding a bit confused. “I promise I’m not.” He finally dragged his eyes away from the tentacles and up to his friend’s face, where another surprise was waiting. Cecil’s teeth had elongated and narrowed down to sharp points, his lips were black, and his skin was even paler than usual; the most shocking thing, however, were his eyes. All three of his eyes had morphed more feline and less humanoid; the normally pale violet eyes had grown and changed until the entire eye, except for the black slit in the middle, was a bright purple. They were surprisingly beautiful and Carlos was left breathless for a completely different reason than before.

He cleared his throat nervously. “Do you, um, do you want to come inside?”

"Yeah, that would be nice," he replied, offering his friend what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Cecil didn't look very reassured as he stepped aside to let Carlos through. "Do you want something to drink: water, juice, mead. I think I have a bottle of sake around here somewhere."

"I'm fine, thanks," he answered. "Let's just sit down."

They made their way to Cecil’s living room and sat down on his couch. Cecil was pressed up against the arm, as far away from Carlos as he could possibly be. It broke the scientist’s heart to see the man he loved so wary of him, and he wished, not for the first time, that he was better with words. The silence stretched on until it went beyond awkward and into painful. Cecil was holding himself completely still, his tentacles curled up against his body in a way that didn’t look particularly comfortable.

Finally, Carlos sighed and turned to face his friend. “Cecil, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I can leave if you want. Do you want me to leave?”

“What?” Cecil asked, sounding disgruntled. “Why would I want you to leave? The whole point of this was so that you wouldn’t leave! You can leave if you want to, but don’t make it seem like it was my idea!” By the time he finished speaking, the broadcaster sounded legitimately angry — more angry than Carlos had ever heard him.

The scientist shook his head, reaching out to place his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Cecil, I didn’t say anything about wanting to leave. It’s just that you seem so uncomfortable, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I thought that you might not want me here anymore.”

“I want you here,” he answered quickly. “I really do, but I know that this is a lot to deal with,” he paused, gesturing with his tentacles to show what he meant (which, as far as Carlos could tell, was all of him). “I mean, you didn’t exactly know what you were getting yourself into. So I would understand if this was too much and you didn’t want to, you know, be in it any more.”

Carlos frowned, taking a moment to parse what his friend had meant by that. “Hey, who said anything about this being too much? I’m not going anywhere, especially not because there occasionally happens to be more of you.”

“Really?” Cecil asked, beginning to sound a bit hopeful.

He nodded, scooting closer to his partner. “Really. Cecil, I love you — you know I do; I’m not going to stop loving you just because I found out something new about you. That’s the whole point of this: to find out new things about each other. I'm sure that there have been things about me that you haven't expected to learn. That's not a bad thing; is it?"

"Of course not," he replied quickly. "I love learning new things about you."

He smiled, thankful that he had finally stopped blushing when Cecil said things like that. "Well I feel the same way about you. So please don't worry about scaring me away because that's simply not going to happen. Okay?" Cecil nodded, finally looking more sure of himself. Carlos grinned, the tightness in his chest finally relaxing; he leaned in for a kiss, pleased to find that, despite the sharper teeth and color change, kissing his boyfriend was just as perfect as it had always been.

“Perfect,” He said, unable to stop smiling. Cecil blushed, flushing a pale purple. Carlos chuckled, brushing his hand against his cheek. “Well this is certainly new.” He kissed him again because they had finally reached the point in their relationship where physical affection was easy and he wasn’t going to give that up for anything. Cecil hummed, sounding slightly broken, and kissed him back, pulling him closer with five pairs of limbs.

They pressed against each other, teetering on the edge of easy affection and something more heated. Carlos ran his hands over Cecil’s torso, not avoiding the tentacles, per say, but definitely focusing on the parts he was a bit more familiar with; even so, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed feeling so completely wrapped up in Cecil. Cecil himself seemed happy to do the wrapping and was doing his best to get as close as possible to his scientist. After a few minutes, however, the broadcaster pulled away with a hiss of discomfort, his tentacles curling back up against his chest again.

“What’s wrong?” Carlos asked, feeling panic begin to well up inside of him again. He had no idea what was and was not acceptable when it came to cephalopod-like appendages and was terrified that he had somehow managed to injure his friend. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Cecil shook his head, smiling even as he rubbed his hand soothingly against one of the thick appendages. “No, of course you didn’t. It’s just that my skin is very sensitive right now, and synthetic materials tend to irritate it. Well, any material tends to irritate it, really, hence my lack of shirt. I don’t usually walk around half-naked, you know.” The scientist guiltily fingered the rough fabric of his lab coat and the broadcaster continued talking in a rush. “It’s really not a problem, though; I have a special cream that I use that clears the problem right up.”

“Oh, did you want to go get that now?” He said, still feeling guilty despite Cecil’s obvious attempts to reassure him. “I mean I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, and if that would help you be not, then that would be good.” He frowned, trying to decipher his own sentence, but his companion smiled and gave a quick agreement before leaving to retrieve the ointment. Carlos hesitated for a few moments, unsure of what to do with himself, before slipping out of his lab coat and rolling up his sleeves, wanting to limit the amount of possible irritants.

Cecil returned fairly quickly and sat next to Carlos again. He looked slightly embarrassed, but neither of them mentioned it. The lotion came in a metal cannister, and when he unscrewed the top, they were bombarded by the scent of honey. The Voice of Night Vale gave a small sigh of relief as he started applying the cream. He started at the base of one tentacle, carefully working in a generous amount as he moved down towards the tip.

“My skin just gets so dry when I’m like this,” he said, desperate to fill the silence. “I was so happy when I found this cream. Before, it would crack and blister. I remember just crying and crying when I was young.” His voice was purposefully cheerful, masking any emotions behind the statement in a way that Carlos never failed to find disconcerting.

“I could help you,” He said, nervously clearing his throat. “I mean, if you would be okay with that; I wouldn’t mind.”

He flushed a pale purple again, but he offered the ointment container without hesitation. “Oh, of course. And don’t worry about running out of lotion; I always have more.” Carlos nodded and licked his lips. He took the cream from his friend’s outstretched hand and scooped some onto his fingers. He then carefully scooted closer to the other man and reached for the uppermost tentacle on the left side. He started at the base, just as Cecil had, and studiously ignored the man’s slight gasp since it wasn’t accompanied by any actual words. He worked his way down towards the tip, his strokes becoming firmer and more like a massage once be became a bit more sure of what he was doing.

It was his first real chance to examine the appendages, and what would have already been interesting was made all the more fascinating by the fact that they were attached to Cecil. All of them were at least four feet long, but some were definitely upwards of five. They were thickest at the base — too thick for him to close his hand around them — tapering down to a point that seemed to be fairly dexterous. Their color, much like their host’s tattoos, changed color depending on emotional and external stimuli; they had all lightened from their original purplish-black hue and were now flashing a variety of colors based on where Carlos was touching and what exactly he was doing. The two bottom pairs were smooth all the way along, but the four on top were covered in suction cups from the tip all the way down to a few inches above where they attached to the rest of him. The scientist had originally assumed that they would be slimy and rather cold, but instead they were soft and warm; it was definitely a pleasant surprise.

Carlos moved closer, wanting to get a better look at the joint. As he moved, his shirt brushed against several of the tentacles, causing Cecil to wince and pull away. Without thinking, he stripped of the offensive item and and began to soothingly rub more lotion into the affected limbs. Cecil had long before stopped applying lotion himself, instead sitting quietly with his hands in his lap and a blissful expression on his face. Once that last barrier of polyester had been removed the tentacles began their own exploration, rubbing against his dark skin, spiraling up his arms, and coiling around his waist. They were gentle and soothing, taking obvious pains to avoid interfering in what he was doing. The upper pairs were pressing against him in different places, suctioning across his back and chest, never staying in any particular place for long — almost as if they were tasting him. It was an interesting sensation, to say the least, and was very similar to receiving a set of hickeys except with more tickling involved.

“Careful with those,” he said, chuckling a little as one of the tentacles pealed away from his chest. “You’re liable to leave bruises.” He had meant it as a joke, but Cecil recoiled in horror, his tentacles instantly darkening and they twisted together against his abdomen. The scientist quickly shook his head, kicking himself for his misstep. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that; I was just teasing. I’m sorry.” He reached for one of the tentacles, gently coaxing it to unfurl.

Cecil looked at him warily, narrowing his eyes at the red marks that were already visible. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You weren’t hurting me, I promise,” he answered, doing his best to sound as sincere as possible. “It was actually kind of nice.”

He relaxed, cautiously reaching out with his tentacles again. “Well as long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he promised, leaning in for a kiss and sighing contentedly at the feeling of so much bare skin against his own. The atmosphere began to shift away from innocent exploration and he sighed again, pressing even closer.

Cecil groaned as he pulled away, letting his head rest against Carlos’ shoulder as his limbs went limp. “I have to go to work.”

“Alright,” he replied, kneading the muscles in his friend’s neck as he tried to hide his disappointment. “Do you want to go to dinner when you finish. I can pick you up after your broadcast is over.”

He smiled, lifting his head for another quick kiss. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Great!” He said. “I’ll see you then.” They said their goodbyes and soon Carlos was in his truck, heading back into town and trying to remember if he actually owned any clothing that wasn’t made of synthetic material. 


	2. Chapter 2

Carlos was disturbed to learn that he did not, in fact, own any clothing made of natural fibers. In addition to being slightly embarrassing, this meant that he was going to have to brave the clothing stores in downtown Night Vale — something which he had previously managed to avoid. While no one had ever accused him of putting too much thought into whether or not his clothes were in style, even he knew that Night Valean fashion left much to be desired. Fortunately, natural fibers seemed to be a trend in Night Vale — the scientist in Carlos wondered whether this was an indication of widespread skin sensitivities or just another of the town’s many quirks. Unfortunately, all of the clothing that was “date appropriate” (and Carlos was certainly not going to risk the disapproving glares that had followed Cecil’s on-air description of his first date attire by not dressing appropriately) was styled in a way that was, frankly, outlandish. After much deliberation he finally decided on a pair of gray pin-stripe trousers with a truly alarming leg flare and an orange tunic-like-thing. He was walking back to his truck, bag in hand, when he ran into the one person he had been hoping to avoid. He wasn’t sure why the fact that Steve Carlsberg had been telling the truth about Cecil’s tentacles was worse that the idea that the man had been lying, but it increased Carlos’ desire to break his nose exponentially.

Despite his best efforts at evasion, Steve managed to corner him, apparently unable to take a hint. “Carlos! It’s so good to see you! You’ve been doing some shopping, I see.” The man had the unfailingly irritating habit of stating the obvious, and just then it was even more obnoxious than usual.

“Yes, I thought that it was past time that I started supporting local businesses,” he said, gritting his teeth and lying with more ease than he ever had before moving to Night Vale.

Steve’s smile faltered and he couldn’t help but frown a little bit. “You sound as if you’ve decided to stay. I thought I had warned you about this place; you really need to leave while you still have the chance.”

“I really don’t need you to make my decisions for me,” he replied, dropping all pretenses of cordiality. “In fact, I really don’t need to hear your opinions on anything. This is my home, and I’m not going to let you of all people scare me away.” He was only mildly surprised to find that he was telling the truth.

Steve shook his head sadly, looking a bit horrified. “They’ve gotten to you already; I didn’t think it would happen this quickly. This is all Cecil’s fault; I thought I warned you about him. He’s a monster!”

Without really thinking about it, Carlos pulled back and punched him, feeling a satisfying crack as his fist connected with the other man’s nose; Steve hit the ground with a thud, clutching at his face as it bled. Within moments members of the Sheriff’s Secret Police were on the scene, and Carlos held his hands up in the air in an attempt to show that he had no intention of resisting. He quickly lowered them, however, after receiving strange looks from behind the balaclavas.

“Was this really necessary Carlos?” One of the officers asked, disapproval radiating from his green eyes.

“I’m sorry officer,” he said, hoping that he sounded appropriately contrite; he really didn’t want to spend any time at all in the abandoned mineshaft. “But you heard what he said.”

The officer sighed. “Yes, I did; which is why I’m letting you off with just a warning. But you can’t go around punching every asshole who mouths off. There are forms for that.”

“Yes officer,” he replied, quashing the relieved giggles that were bubbling up inside of him. “It won’t happen again.”

He nodded, trying, and failing, to look curt and exasperated. “See that it doesn’t.” As the man turned away, Carlos could almost swear that he was smiling underneath his face mask; but then again, it was hard to tell with the Sheriffs Secret Police.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

That evening Carlos listened to Cecil’s show from the parking lot in front of the radio station. The broadcaster had, of course, heard about the incident that afternoon, and while he didn’t go into too many details, the phrase “defending my honor” was used more than once. Carlos was mildly mortified by the whole scenario, and his embarrassment did not ease when Cecil jumped into his arms with a cry of “my hero!”

They went to dinner, eating quietly in a back corner, and afterwards they decided to try the new frozen yogurt place; it was good even if Carlos had found a few of the flavors odd — strawberry and bloodstone was surprisingly tasty. Later, Carlos drove Cecil home. He put his car in park and killed the engine, plunging them into the darkness of Cecil's driveway. Carlos hated this part of the date; even after months of dates and important conversations about their relationship, he never got any better at this part. He was awkward and confused, and he never knew what to say. The only lines he could ever think of were stupid, or trite, or horrible clichés; your place or mine makes no sense at all when you’re actually sitting outside of your date’s house. His usual method for dealing with his social incompetence was to just do something, anything really, and run — like he had at the end of their first date — but that method was decidedly unproductive when considering his hopes for how this particular date was going to end. He gripped the steering wheel in both hands and prayed to whoever was listening that Cecil would make the first move.

After a few tense moments the radio broadcaster cleared his throat nervously. "Did you, um, did you want to come in? You know, for coffee or something."

"Yeah, that would be great," he answered, probably a bit too quickly. Cecil just grinned.

They made their way hand in hand up to the porch; Cecil fumbled a bit with the key, but he laughed good-naturedly, and soon they were inside. The radioman kicked off his sandals as soon as the door was shut behind them and led the way to the kitchen, fumbling through the mundane act of making coffee and biting his lips in an attempt to keep himself from babbling. The silence was in no way awkward, and Carlos was more than content to lean against the counter and watch his boyfriend. Cecil had, as usual, dressed carefully, if a tad eccentrically. His bright red pants hugged tightly against his skin even though they were several inches too long and dragged under his heels -- they looked soft and Carlos longed to touch. His shirt was much simpler: a plain white cotton tunic that came down almost to where his fingers hit on his thighs; there were slits in the back for his tentacles, and the v of the collar dipped low, showing a tantalizing view of the man's breastbone. He had also styled his hair, gelling his bangs so that they stuck up in spikes instead of drooping down into his eyes. Still, no matter how graceful he looked, he was failing miserably at the simple task of making coffee.

"Damn it!" Cecil yelled after overfilling the coffee machine with water for the second time. "Do you actually want coffee?"

Carlos shook his head, smiling fondly at the other man. "Not really."

"Oh thank the gods," he replied breathlessly, looking so relieved that the scientist couldn't help but laugh. The broadcaster cut off his chuckles by lunging forward and crashing their mouths together, being particularly mindful of his sharper than usual teeth.

Carlos clutched at his partner, moaning low in the back of his throat. He dragged his hands down his friend's back until he was able to cup his ass in both of his hands. Cecil whimpered and all ten of his limbs contracted, desperately pulling the scientist closer. He left one of his hands where it was to knead at the firm muscle there as he moved the other up his tunic to press at the small of his back.

"I have a bedroom," Cecil announced, arching into the touch. "We should go there: much less dangerous."

"Whatever you say," he agreed, quickly deciding not to think about what possible danger they were in by making out in the kitchen.

They shared one last quick kiss, which easily changed into a long one, before Cecil led the way down the hall. Carlos was pressed against his back, one hand clutching at his hip while the other was still beneath his tunic, now pressed against his stomach. On his end, Cecil was doing his best to wrap the other man entirely: two tentacles were already under his shirt, two more were coiled tightly around his thighs, one was draped around his neck, and the remaining three were pushing and pulling at him at random; this left both of Cecil's hands free to press against the walls in an attempt to keep them on their feet. They had just reached the doorway to the bedroom when Carlos leaned down to suck an open-mouthed kiss onto the skin behind his ear in the way he knew made the other man's knees weak.

"You're such a tease," Cecil complained, the effect ruined by the fact that he was gasping for breath.

He chuckled and repeated the action. "I'm not teasing. Teasing implies that I have no intention of following through." He paused for another kiss before continuing. "Take off your shirt; I'd probably end up hurting you if I tried doing it."

The speed with which the man scrambled to comply sent Carlos reeling. When they had first gone to bed together Carlos had been surprised, and a little bit scared, to discover that Cecil was just a little bit submissive when it came to sex. The scientist had never really been the more dominant one in a relationship before, and he found the prospect daunting, but with Cecil it was easy; all he had to do was take charge a little bit -- give a few instructions, press him down into the mattress as they kissed, little things like that — and Cecil practically melted. After doing what he had been asked, Cecil sat on the edge of the bed and watched eagerly as Carlos stripped off his own shirt and toed off his shoes and socks.

Cecil tilted his face up for a kiss which Carlos happily gave. He slowly deepened the kiss, tipping Cecil back until he was lying flat on the bed with his legs dangling off the end; he straddled him, still kissing him and forgetting to be careful of his teeth. In fact, he forgot about pretty much everything that wasn't the feeling of Cecil's skin, his hands in his hair, or the tentacles that made him feel like he was cocooned in warmth and security — albeit sexy warmth and security. After an indeterminable length of time, he started kissing down his chest. Soon he was on the ground, kneeling between Cecil's splayed legs and struggling with his impossible button. After truly awkward amount of time, Cecil sat up and pushed his hands away, undoing the button himself.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked, looking incredibly nervous. "I mean, things aren't exactly what you're expecting."

He smiled reassuringly, cupping his knees in his hands. "I'm expecting you; I don't care about anything else. As long as you're sure, I'm sure. But we don't have to do anything. Do you want to do this, Cecil?"

Cecil nodded, still looking a bit hesitant but reassured all the same. He laid back again, letting his hands fall to the side in order to give his friend access. Carlos took a deep breath and placed one last kiss on his bare stomach before undoing the buttons and peeling off his trousers. He swallowed heavily, a hysterical voice in the back of his head commenting that at least things were symmetrical. He glanced up in order to give his partner a smile that was only slightly strained before reaching out and threading his fingers through the eight tentacles that apparently made up Cecil's current genitalia.

The tentacles were all smooth and were producing a slick film that was probably a form of self-lubrication. They were all different sizes, the longest stretched to the size of his forearm, while the shortest were only an inch or two long. They could change their sizes, too, becoming thicker or thinner as they shortened and elongated. Carlos began a light kneading motion, buying himself time, and Cecil moaned, arching his back. Such an obviously positive reaction gave the scientist a boost in confidence, and he quickly got out of his own pants and climbed up on the bed.

The scientist hissed through his teeth as he slotted their hips together, burying his face in Cecil's neck as he tried to get himself under control. Cecil didn't seem to be doing much better. He was gasping and clutching at Carlos with every available limb. Carlos turned his head for a very uncoordinated kiss, barely managing to meet the other man’s lips at all.

After a few moments he pulled away and looked down at his friend, panting heavily. “Is this okay? Tell me what you want. What do you need me to do?”

“This is good,” Cecil answered with a groan. “This is really great. Oh gods, please don’t stop.” Carlos nodded and kissed him again, reaching down to clutch at Cecil’s hip.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Cecil lived in an ancient farm house that only had one bathroom; the shower in that bathroom was in no way big enough for two grown men to share, so they had to take turns. Cecil went first mostly because, apparently, tentacle skin is a lot harder to wipe off than normal skin, so he was already dry and back in bed by the time Carlos was finished with his.

Cecil was sitting up in bed and smoking cigarettes that smelled faintly of peppermint as he read emails on his phone. After he was mostly dried off, Carlos climbed back into bed, kissing his preoccupied partner’s cheek; Cecil hummed happily but didn’t look up from what he was doing. Not that Carlos really minded — he had certainly been on the other end of things often enough: such as the disastrous ‘tree research’ that made up most of their first date. Eventually, he put his phone aside and smiled up at his scientist.

Carlos smiled back and leaned down for a kiss before saying, “You’re not supposed to smoke in bed, you know.”

“Really? Why not?” Cecil asked, looking genuinely confused.

He smiled fondly at him. “Because if you fall asleep, you could burn yourself to death.”

“Well, I promise not to fall asleep then,” he replied, giving him a look that clearly said that he thought the other man’s concern was adorable.

Carlos hummed before reaching over and plucking the cigarette out of his friends hand and brought it to is own lips. It tasted like an odd mixture of tobacco and peppermint — kind of like the time he had tried quitting while writing his dissertation and had ended up chew nicotine gum and smoking at the same time. It was definitely odd, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the combination, but it had been years since his last cigarette and the hit of nicotine more than made up for any oddity. He had originally quit smoking in an attempt to avoid cancer, but as far as he could tell, that really wasn’t a concern in Night Vale — so he figured, what the hell.

“Carlos, I didn’t know you smoked,” Cecil said, sounding almost in awe.

He shrugged, taking another drag. “I quit when I got my doctorate, but my reasons for doing so no longer seem valid. I’m sorry for commandeering your smoke, though.”

“Don't worry about it; you can have as many as you want,” he answered as he tapped a fresh cigarette out of the carton. “I’ll help you fill out the government subsidy forms tomorrow if you like.”

He nodded, draping his arm over his shoulders. “That would be great. I do have one question though: Why peppermint?”

Cecil blushed, turning his head away sheepishly. “Oh, you know, so they can market them to children better. It provides an easier transition into a life-long nicotine habit because they taste kind of like the candy cigarettes they sell in the Ralph’s.” He had almost slipped into his Radio Voice, but he when he spoke again after a slight pause, his voice was back to it’s more causal Off Duty tone. “I just like them. I think I have a pack of regulars around here somewhere, though, if you don’t like the taste.”

“They’re fine,” he answered quickly, not wanting his friend to get up.

Carlos leaned down for another kiss, happy to let his cigarette burn down as he focused on the lazy, comfortable push and slide.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading; I hope you enjoyed it. And a special thanks to my beta [Painless_papercuts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Painless_papercuts/pseuds/Painless_papercuts) who is absolutely amazing. 
> 
> I do have more stories planned for this series, but if anyone has anything they would especially like to see, just let me know and I'll see what I can do.


End file.
